


Eternity

by CasualWitch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:36:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualWitch/pseuds/CasualWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three years since John lost his best friend and he still hasn't been able to get over it. John has a few realisations about his feelings and what Sherlock really meant to him. But he is too late... he thinks. This story starts of rather miserable but don't worry there will be fluff later on.<br/>Not rated yet as I'm not entirely sure what is going to happen later on in the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Realisations

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys this is my first fanfic so please go easy on me. I hope you all enjoy it. All mistakes are my own.

Three years ago today, I lost my best friend. In reality it was a long time ago but to me it seems like only yesterday. I am still in shock. I have seen many people die, including some close friends of mine, but this was different, I’m not really sure why. Maybe because with them I expected to lose people. I was in the Army, it was obvious that I was going to lose friends. After I returned from Afghanistan I never really had any friends, I had acquaintances, but I never had any friends, not until I met you anyway. I guess being away from the Army for so long meant I had grown accustomed to a life full of danger but without truly being aware of the fact that it could end up killing either of us. End up killing you, Sherlock.

 

Some people would argue that it’s your fault you are dead, you were a liar and you chose to kill yourself. I know that’s not true. You weren’t a liar and you wouldn’t have chosen to die. You were made to. Moriarty made you. I hated him for threatening to kill me and for killing all those other people. But killing you. I can’t even begin to describe how much I hate him for that. I swear to God if he was alive, I hate to think what I would have done to him, I’m sure I would of ended up doing things that I couldn’t even imagine being capable of. That terrifies me.

 

The thing that bothers me though, is what caused you to do it. What did Moriarty say to you up there? I know that it involves me somehow and I hate that. I hate to think that you may have died because of me. The amount of guilt I feel is unbearable, I think about it constantly. What did he say to you Sherlock?

 

I know you are dead, I saw your body, yet I still have this nagging sensation telling me that you are still alive. It’s crazy, I know, but even after your funeral and visiting your grave countless times, that feeling is still there. Every time I say or do something stupid I expect you to jump in and criticise me for being an idiot. That used to really annoy me, now I want it more than anything.

 

I visited your grave today and I felt the same empty feeling that I get every time I go there. Every time I go it seems emptier than the last, maybe it’s because some people were able to get over your death or maybe they just don’t see the point in it and are busy getting on with their lives. I can’t do that. I spent most of the day there, it makes me feel closer to you, something that I am sure would sound ridiculous to you but it’s the truth. While there I talked to you and in my head I imagined what your responses would be. I told you about how everyone is getting on and I told you about a few of the more recent cases that the police are struggling with, it was almost like old times. It was a massive wrench to have to leave you and go home, but I could hardly argue with you listing all the reasons why it made more sense to go home. I know it wasn’t real, but it was real to me.

 

I figured that writing all of this down would help. I don’t know if you knew but every time I felt down or you made me feel angry or even just really happy, I would write about it and it would make me feel better. I know you would think it is stupid, that’s why I hid it from you. You probably know about this already though, there was never any hiding anything from you though. You never mentioned it and I feel incredibly grateful for that. You respected my privacy to some extent, which must have been difficult for you. Thank you.

 

I realised something today Sherlock. I guess I figured out why other people are able to move on while I am still a complete wreck. I think I have known it for a long time but I just couldn’t admit it to myself. I guess admitting it to myself would make it more real, more unbearable. I am admitting it now though. Sherlock I knew where I stood with you, I could count on you to be honest, I could trust you and you saved me from a really dark place. You were my best friend, and you still are. I don’t know where I would be now if it wasn’t for you Sherlock. I realise now that to me you were more than just my friend, you completed me and I know it may sound cheesy, but you were my soul mate. I know that I may have protested strongly at anyone who thought I was gay or that we were a couple but I was wrong. I love you Sherlock. I’m just sorry that I couldn’t have told you this while you were alive. I know it won’t matter to you. I just needed to tell you how much you mean to me. I love you Sherlock and I will love you for the rest of eternity.


	2. Something is Missing

It had been a few weeks since John had realised his true feelings and something completely unexpected happened, he started to feel a bit better about things. He still felt angry and guilty but he was able to be more positive about his life in general. He had allowed himself to let others see how he felt about things. If someone said something that made him angry he would let them know, if he was upset he would allow himself to be upset.

 

One day he managed to pluck up the courage to return to 221b Baker Street, surprising himself and Mrs Hudson.

 

“John!” She squealed in pure excitement, “It’s so good to see you. How are you feeling? Come in and I’ll make a cup of tea.”

 

“I’m not too bad, thanks. How’s the hip doing?”

 

“Same old, same old,” she laughed while rushing to the kitchen to put the kettle on. “What brings you here today?”

 

Mrs Hudson knew that John hadn’t been coping very well and she had been to visit him on rare occasions but she decided that John obviously needed a bit of space to figure things out. She spent a lot of time worrying about him though and what he was thinking, she knew that he would blame himself, that’s just the kind of person John is.

 

Sherlock’s death had hit Mrs Hudson quite hard, Sherlock had always been very protective of her and since they had moved in she had always thought of them as family. After Sherlock died she just couldn’t face having new people to live in the flat, so when John said that he couldn’t go back to sort out their belongings she didn’t mind. She decided that she would leave the flat alone and if John ever wanted it back he was more than welcome to it.

 

“I was wondering if you had done anything with the flat yet. I was wondering if I could just, you know, look around and sort out a few things. I think I can handle it now.” His voice had was shaking because in all honesty he was terrified, he didn’t know if he could cope but he knew that he had to try.

 

“Oh of course you can dear,” she said in her usual motherly way as she brought through tea and some biscuits. “Would you like me to help you or would you like some time alone?”   

 

“I think I’ll do it myself, if you don’t mind. I want to try and get my head around things…”

 

“Of course you can. Just you help yourself to tea and biscuits and when you feel ready you can go on up. Just call on me if you need anything.” With that she hurried off to the kitchen to leave John be.

 

John sat on the couch slowly sipped his tea. After a long while John decided he was ready, he could do it. When he got to the top of the stairs he started to panic, he briefly considered going back downstairs before deciding, no, he had to do this, if he didn’t do it now he never would. He braced himself and opened the door.

 

The instant the door was open John noticed several things, the room had been left exactly as it was the last time he was in it, the papers from that day were still on the table, Sherlock’s dressing gown was lying on his chair and there was a lot of dust. Mrs Hudson definitely hadn’t been lying when she said that it was exactly as they had left.

 

He stayed in the one spot for a while just thinking about how good his time here had been, it wasn’t long before it became too much and he had to sit down. He had been sat there for a while when he realised that he was sobbing. He had never cried like this before, ever. He felt happy about the time they had spent together but he just couldn’t understand what had happened in the end, why did he have to die?

 

It took a while for him to calm down, but when he had he felt better, more human and he started looking around again. As he was looking he discovered that something didn’t feel right there was something missing. It take long for it to hit him. Sherlock’s violin wasn’t in its usual place in the corner, in fact he couldn’t see it anywhere. John couldn’t understand it, where was his violin? It had definitely been left there. It made no sense.

 

John headed back downstairs to Mrs Hudson. When he went in Mrs Hudson was washing the dishes but she turned around to face John anyway.

 

“Oh dear,” she said sympathetically taking in John’s facial expression and the puffy eyes, “are you okay dear?”

 

“What? Yeah, fine,” he replied, “did you do something with his violin?”

 

“No I haven’t touched it, I just assumed he put it somewhere else after he last used it. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, it’ll turn up,” she reassured him.

 

“Oh, alright, I guess. I had better be off. Thank you, I’ll see you again later.”

 

“It was no problem dearie, you can visit any time, remember that okay?”

 

With that John nodded and left. He needed to think, why wasn’t Sherlock’s violin there anymore? He knew that it had been left there. Someone had obviously taken it and he was determined to find out who. He wouldn’t rest until he knew what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this. All responses are welcomed, feel free to point out any of my mistakes, I would like to be able to improve :)

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the story may sound rather negative at the moment but don't worry I promise that it will get better. Thank you for reading this.


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